


Comfort & Ploy

by ShannaraIsles



Series: Dear Friend Universe [3]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dear Friend Universe, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Snowball Fight, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, caroling, mistletoe kiss, waking up together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannaraIsles/pseuds/ShannaraIsles
Summary: Carver Hawke needs a girlfriend for the festive season. Filipa Trevelyan needs an excuse not to spend Satinalia with her parents. Best friends pretending to be lovers ... what could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Carver Hawke/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Dear Friend Universe [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/915276
Comments: 47
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I finally managed to pull myself together and come up with a festive offering! Standard seasonal fluff ahoy!

"This is going to be _so_ awkward."

Filipa laughed, gently nudging her companion's arm as reassuringly as she could manage. Carver had been full of reluctance and overblown warnings of catastrophe ever since they had got off the boat an hour ago. Up until that point, the journey from Kirkwall to Denerim had been going rather well.

"I'm sure it's not going to be as bad as all that," she said. "It'll be fine, nowhere near as terrible as you're making out."

"Save that thought until after you've met my brother," he warned in a dark tone, pressing the button to call the elevator.

She snorted, rolling her eyes at his insistence on being a doom-sayer.

"Look, the whole point of me being here is to keep the worst from happening," she reminded him. "You show up with a girlfriend, and he and _his_ girlfriend don't try to set you up for a one night stand at any of their festive bashes. We can do this."

"I really can't thank you enough for this, Pip," he said, letting her step into the elevator ahead of him. "I owe you, big time."

Leaning back against the cool wall as the doors closed, Filipa smiled at her friend, resting her bag at her feet.

"This got me out of having to go to Ostwick for Satinalia, _and_ got me into Denerim for the season, so I can actually visit my sister without having to stay with her or break the bank," she pointed out. "I'd say we're even on the favors front."

"And you're sure you're okay with ... pretending?"

He eyed her worriedly. It had probably been a spur of the moment suggestion, back in Ansburg, that she should come to Denerim for the holiday in the guise of his girlfriend, so they could both have a better Satinalia than they'd had for a while. She was certain he had not expected her to agree so readily, but where was the harm? She liked him, he liked her. They'd been good friends for more than a year now. It wasn't so very much to ask.

"Trust me," she insisted. "Your brother is going to be totally convinced that we're madly in love, and have been for the last six months."

"Without it being weird," he added quickly.

"Without weirdness," she agreed with a grin. "Calm down."

"I'm trying to!"

As the elevator came to a halt on the top floor, Filipa watched him take a deep breath, as though bracing himself for what was to come. Anyone would think he was about to face off with a dragon, rather than have an early dinner with his brother and a few of said brother's friends. She refused to believe that Garrett Hawke was even half as bad as Carver made out and besides, they only had to keep the pretense up in front of his family; her sister knew she was bringing a friend to their meet-ups, and Carver would be able to relax a little. Indeed, she wasn't entirely sure he needed to be so wound up in the first place; they'd been over and over their cover story so there were no gaps, and had even agreed on just how far they were prepared to go as far as proof of affection was concerned. Filipa wasn't worried at all.

Stepping out into the narrow hallway, she reached out to squeeze Carver's hand, surprised to feel him lace his fingers through hers and hold on tightly. She glanced up at his face, biting down a small giggle at how pale he seemed to have gone.

"Last chance to back out," she whispered, as he rang the doorbell.

Carver looked down at her, his expression relaxing a little in the face of her warm confidence.

"Thanks, Pip."

She grinned at him, swaying into his side affectionately for a moment as the lock sounded and the door in front of them was swung open. A stunning black woman greeted them, wide smile all kinds of suggestive as she looked them over.

"There you are at last," she declared. "I thought I was going to lose my bet. Come in, come in, and bring your sweet thing with you."

Carver released Filipa's hand and gave her a gentle push into the apartment ahead of him, where she found herself quickly enveloped in a startlingly handsy hug from their female host. She actually squeaked as the woman's hands snuck inside her coat to pat her backside before retreating.

"You must be Isabela," she managed, laughing awkwardly to cover her moment of unexpected surprise.

"My reputation precedes me," Isabela agreed, her cheer more than a little tinged with wicked playfulness. "You shouldn't believe everything this one says."

"Oh, she definitely should," Carver countered, only a little grim in expression as he bent to let his brother's girlfriend give him the same kind of embrace she had just bestowed on Filipa. He was apparently used to the hands, quick to disentangle himself with the premise of helping his "girlfriend" off with her coat. "This is Pip - ah, Filipa. Pip, you're right; this _is_ Isabela. How are you, 'Bela?"

"Delighted to find you in the company of such a precious beauty," Isabela responded, giving him an outrageous wink and pout. "And a little put out I didn't get to meet her first. I hope you are treating her right."

"He's a perfect gentleman," Filipa answered quickly, before Carver could open his mouth with something defensive and obvious.

Isabela's laugh was positively filthy.

"Oh dear, pup," she teased. "I obviously haven't taught you anywhere near well enough if you're _that_ much of a gentleman with your squeeze."

"Not everyone spends every waking moment trying to get laid, 'Bela," Carver complained, but this only made her laugh once again.

"Just as well you don't have to try any more then," Isabela answered with impish delight, pushing their bags into the space under the coats on the wall. "How do you put up with him, Pip?"

Filipa had managed to recover herself by now, and was trying valiantly not to grin at the delightful contrast between Carver and the woman who would have been his sister-in-law if his brother was of a marrying frame of mind.

"He has his moments," she offered, vague enough that Carver didn't blush or get uncomfortable.

This time, she wasn't surprised when he took her hand; she had a feeling he was going to be holding onto her like grim death for the majority of the time they spent with his family for the next week.

"You will have to tell me _all_ about them," Isabela teased, turning toward a half-closed door, from behind which came the sound of other people's voices. "Come on in, sweet thing, and do bring the gentleman with you."

As she turned away, Filipa looked up at Carver, attempting to express her understanding and amusement with just her eyes, and had to struggle not to laugh at the obvious look of _I told you so_ in his answering glance. She squeezed his hand, pausing just long enough to lean up and whisper for his ears only,

"It's going to be _fine_. Trust me."

He leaned down, hugging her hand to his chest for a moment.

"Who do I have to kill to have your confidence?" he muttered, smirking as she spluttered with laughter.

Hand in hand, they followed Isabela into a wide living room that lead out onto an equally wide balcony. The room itself was hung with garlands and multi-colored lights, a dining table set up in the middle with most of the chairs already filled. Filipa's first impression was of laughter and smiles and warm chatter, an atmosphere that was entirely lacking in her own family home, and she felt a brief pang of envy that Carver had this in at least one place where his family made their home.

"Look who made it at last!" Isabela announced, and a bearded man lurched up from the table.

He bounded across the room in about three steps, threw an arm around Carver's neck, and bent him double into a headlock, pressing a loud kiss to the taller man's dark hair.

"My little baby brother! I've missed you!"

"Get - _argh_ \- get _off_ , Garrett!"

Released from Carver's grip, and a little startled all over again at the greeting he was getting from his brother, Filipa didn't even register the other faces at the table until a small body barreled into her at speed, throwing arms about her waist.

"Auntie Pip! Mum said you weren't coming until tomorrow!"

Sudden horror piled in on top of Filipa's confidence as she lowered her eyes to the grinning face of Alys, her sister's step-daughter. _Oh dear._

"I, I wasn't expecting to see you here," she managed, wrapping the little girl up in a hug. Her eyes traveled to the table, to find Mila grinning over at her in equally delighted surprise. _Oh crap._ "Hi."

Cullen, Mila's husband, offered her a vague salute, too engaged in conversation with the dwarf on his right to do more, but Mila rose from the table to hug her little sister warmly, even as Carver forcibly removed his own brother from around his neck.

"It's so lovely to see you, Pip," the older sister said, hugging close for a long moment before drawing back. "But I'm pretty sure you said you'd be arriving tomorrow."

"Well, I didn't want you to think you had to change all your plans for me," Filipa managed awkwardly. How was this happening? She had the worst luck - do a friend a favor, and end up lying to family. Of course. It could only happen to her. "Besides, I, um ..."

She gestured a little helplessly toward Carver, who was glancing between her and Mila in undisguised horror. Garrett slapped his younger brother on the back.

"So you snagged yourself a Trevelyan, did you?" he teased cheerfully. "I tell you, if I weren't a happily Isabela'd man, I might have to take a trip to Ostwick and snaffle the third one away from under her parents' nose."

"Oh, _Maker_ ..."

Carver's groan and grimace echoed everything Filipa was feeling inside, but she had made a promise to him. She could always explain everything to Mila tomorrow. They just had to get through this meal without things getting too awful for them both.

"Wait, _you're_ Carver's girlfriend?" Mila asked in amazement, looking down at her sister with raised brows. "You didn't tell me you were seeing anyone!"

"No, I didn't." Filipa scanned her answer; no, there was no lie there. Not yet, anyway. "I _did_ tell you I was bringing someone with me for Saturnalia."

"A _friend_ ," Mila reminded her with a cheeky grin. "No, this is fantastic. I get why you didn't want to sleep on our couch now."

"Is Carver your friend, Auntie Pip?" Alys asked, still clinging to Filipa's waist and grinning as though all her best dreams had just come true.

"He is, Nuglet," Filipa confirmed, glancing over at said friend. It took a bit of effort, but she managed to pull out a convincing smile, opening her hand to invite him a little closer. "Carver, this is my sister, Mila, and her daughter, Alys. Her husband is Cullen over there."

"I know Cullen," he admitted awkwardly, terror of being suddenly exposed just barely banked in his eyes. "I didn't know Mila was your sister, though."

"I didn't know _you_ knew the Hawkes," Filipa said, turning it onto Mila, who shrugged.

"Well, they bailed on our wedding, and they've never really come up in conversation," she said. "Come and sit down - we all have a lot to talk about."

"Can I sit next to Auntie Pip?" Alys asked hopefully, finally disengaging from Filipa's waist to potter over to the table and make her ideal seating arrangement come true.

"If you ask nicely for someone to move up a couple of places so Carver can sit on her other side, then yes," Cullen told his daughter, brushing red hair out of her eyes.

As Alys then turned her attention onto charming Garrett into giving up his seat at the head of the table to her so she could sit between her aunt and her father, Carver bent down to Filipa's ear.

"Maker, I am _so_ sorry," he began, but she shook her head with a smile, deliberately turning them so his back was to the table and she was completely hidden behind him.

"We'll deal," she murmured to him. "Not backing out. You?"

He looked torn for a moment, frowning.

"It's not weird?" he asked.

"Not weird," she promised, patting his chest with a grin. "Odd, yes. I'll sort it out tomorrow."

"Auntie Pip, come and sit down!"

Despite his worries, Carver snorted with laughter at the imperious demand for their attention, turning to let Filipa get a good view of Alys waving her hands at them both to come and take their newly vacated seats at the dinner table.

Still hand in hand, Filipa let herself be drawn that way, easing down into the chair beside the excited little girl as the first dinner of the Denerim festivities began. All right, so she hadn't expected to find herself pretending to be dating someone in front of her _own_ family, but it was fine. They could handle this. She just had to hope that Carver didn't panic and out them before the end of the first course.


	2. Chapter 2

"Thank the Maker that's over!"

Carver snorted in agreement with Filipa's declaration as the taxi cab bore them away from Garrett's apartment building and toward their hotel. That had been ... excruciating, in its own way. He probably could have handled it if they had only been fooling his brother and Isabela, but to suddenly find that Mila Rutherford was also Mila Trevelyan, Filipa's older sister? He had almost blurted out the truth several times, and she knew it. That was why he had the mark of her fingernails imprinted in his thigh, due to the number of times she'd had to pinch him under the table.

"I really am dreadfully sorry," he said again, finally allowed to apologize without being cut off mid-word. "I honestly didn't know that you were _that_ Pip."

"And _I_ didn't know that Mila's musician friend was your brother," Filipa pointed out, a lot calmer than he had expected her to be in the circumstances. "We're in a mess of our own making, but it's all fine, Carver. Honestly, I'll ... I'll think of something."

He sighed, absently wrapping a long arm around her shoulders to hug her, both grateful for her continued insistence on his deception and deeply apologetic for dropping her into a lie to her own family. He knew he was lucky that she'd even agreed to it in the first place, much less kept it up throughout an excruciating meal in which everyone and their partner had wanted to know all about his new relationship.

"We can at least tell Mila and Cullen," he began, but Filipa sighed, shaking her head.

"If we do that, they'll tell Alys," she told him, "and that little girl can't keep a secret to save her life if there isn't something in it for her. I'm afraid we're going to have to keep it up in front of _my_ family as well."

"Serves me right for having the idea in the first place," he muttered, feeling her head thump onto his shoulder. It wasn't unusual; away from his brother, he was a pretty tactile person, and Filipa had never objected to absentminded hugs from her enormous best friend.

"Don't do that," his friend said, poking his ribs with one finger. "We're in this together, right? At least half of this is my fault, so don't you go getting all broody and grumpy on me. If we're going to do this, we're going to have fun doing it. Right?"

"Even though the odds of us being forced into a public kiss just went through the roof?" he asked pointedly.

"Even though," she agreed, firm in her certainty. "It isn't as though we're not used to being all huggy and friendly. We just have to do it in front of family for once. That's all. I'm sure it will be enough."

"Again with the confidence," he muttered, chuckling as she poked at him again. "Stop that."

"Be confident with me, then!"

Laughing, he batted at her hands, each of them lurching a little as the cab came to a halt in front of The Warden's Arms, one of his favorite inns in the city. He always stayed here when he visited Garrett - it had got to the point where Duncan, the owner, could tell it was him just from the greeting over the phone.

Within a few minutes, they were pushing their way inside, smiling and far more comfortable than they had been at his brother's house. The pub seemed busy, but not overly crowded, allowing them to make their way to the bar without barging into anyone relaxing with a pint and friends as they passed. The barman grinned as he caught sight of Carver.

"That time of year again?" he asked, already reaching for the ledger with the room reservations in it. "How time does fly."

"Hallo, Alistair," Carver greeted his old friend, setting his bag down to rummage in a pocket for his card.

"I thought _I_ was paying?" Filipa objected, digging into her pocket for her own wallet.

"No, I'm fairly sure I'm the one who arranged this farce," Carver responded, handing his card to the barman. "Alistair, this is Pip."

The tall Alistair, who never ceased to have a smile on his face despite the fact that Carver knew bar-tending was a deeply stressful job at times, offered over one of his flirtier smiles to Filipa.

"Lovely to meet you, Pip," he said. "Welcome to Denerim."

"Thank you, Alistair," she answered, her own smile just a little too warm for Carver's liking.

 _Wait a second._ That was a ridiculous reaction. Filipa was his _friend_ , she was here doing this as a favor to him. He had no right to get stupidly jealous just because she might be flirting with a handsome man who wasn't shy about flirting back within boundaries. She wasn't his girlfriend. Well, to the outside world for the sake of an easy Satinalia, she _was_ , but ... He frowned inwardly. He was confusing himself now.

"Here we go," Alistair said, handing over a room key. "Room 24, all ready for you."

Carver waited for the other key to be handed to him. There was no other key.

"I'm sure I reserved two rooms," he said, glancing worriedly at Filipa.

Alistair frowned, flipping through the ledger quickly. He shook his head.

"No, Duncan put you down here as one room," he said, worry creasing his face as he looked up at them. "We're fully booked, Carver. I don't _have_ any more rooms to give you."

Carver opened his mouth, feeling the frustration boiling up inside him, and abruptly calmed as Filipa's hand touched his arm. She was looking up at him with that peculiarly gentle way she had; a sort of reassuring expression that never failed to stop him making a prat of himself for the sake of his pride.

"It's not like we haven't shared a room before," she reminded him. "It's an honest mistake, after all. Maybe another room will be available later on in the week?"

Alistair glanced down at the book in his hands.

"Looks like there'll be a free room in three days," he offered. "I can pencil it in as yours, if you want."

Carver hesitated. He didn't like to move about once he was settled, and he knew Filipa was the same way. And she was right - they _had_ shared a room before now, though admittedly it had been in the company of seven other people. It wasn't as dreadful a thought as it might have seemed.

"Shall we see how tonight goes?" Filipa suggested, seeing his indecision. "It _is_ a busy season, and if we're all right tonight, then that room could go to someone else who needs it without worry. Right?"

She looked at Alistair, who was glancing between the pair of them with a speculative look on his face. He blinked, apparently forcing himself out of his thoughts when he realized she was speaking to him.

"That would be a big help," he admitted. "Look, I'll hold the reservation in pencil tonight, and you can let me know in the morning if he snores too much for you to stay with him more than one more night."

Filipa laughed, and again, Carver felt a pang of annoyance at the flirting. What was wrong with him? He bent to pick up the bags, passing the key to her.

"Thanks, Alistair," he managed, though he was certain he sounded off. "Dinner still served here? Do we need to book a table?"

"Table booking comes with the room rez," Alistair reminded him. "Kitchen closes at nine, I'd suggest getting down here before half eight if you want a meal."

"Sounds good to me," Filipa said, smiling up at Carver. "C'mon, I want a shower."

"All right, all right."

Relaxing a little more now she was walking away from Alistair's appreciative gaze beside him, Carver lead the way out of the tap room and up the stairs. He knew this inn like the back of his hand, and room 24 was one of the better rooms. As he peered in over Filipa's shoulder when the door opened, he realized why.

There was only one bed.

Apparently Duncan had absorbed the information that Carver was bringing someone with him, but not that he needed an extra room. The bed was a divine, a size created specifically for couples who needed the extra inches, but still ... Just one bed. Sharing a bed. With Filipa. Who was staring right along with him.

He risked a glance down at his friend just in time to see her burst out laughing, sagging into his side as she absolutely _guffawed_ with merriment, pointing wordlessly at the bed and cackling like a woman gone completely round the bend. Carver sighed, dropping his bag on the floor to get an arm around her before she fell over. He'd seen her collapse in giggles too many times to want anyone to find her keeled over and snorting with laughter half in and half out of their room. With an easy lift, he got her a couple of inches off her feet and walked into the room, depositing her on said bed before returning for his bag and closing the door.

"Are you done?" he asked, mildly irritated by her amusement and, if he was honest, rather more relieved by it. At least she wasn't flying off the handle at the very thought of having to share this space with him.

Filipa waved a hand at him, still fighting to get her giggles under control.

"Your face!" she declared, laying a hand over her eyes in an attempt not to burst out laughing once again in the face of his expression. "You look like someone just told you to strip and dance the Rivaini rhumba in front of your parents!"

"I do not!"

Despite his annoyance, he couldn't deny that his best friend's laughter was deeply infectious, thumping down onto the bed beside her to get his revenge for her laughter by tickling her until she squealed for mercy. Which she did, eventually, but only when he had her pinned down with both her hands wrapped in one of his, and her legs trapped beneath his thigh.

"I give, I give!" Grinning up at him, Filipa took in a deep breath, her cheeks taut with that gleeful expression on her face. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"You will not," he told her firmly. "The least I can do is let you have the bed."

"Oh, so you'll give up a seven foot bed in favor of a four foot couch, will you?" she argued. "I don't think so. If we're going through with this week of glorious torture, I am not putting up with you being grumpy just because you didn't sleep well!"

"Me? _You're_ the one who gets grumpy on bad sleep," he defended himself, trying not to blush as she wriggled.

He was acutely aware, as he had never been before, of just how ... _feminine_ ... his best friend really was. Having her pinned down beneath him was doing nothing for his feeling of being completely off-balance. Filipa rolled her eyes at him, gently tugging on her hands, and he released her with a surprising amount of reluctance, rolling onto his back to lie on the bed at her side. In spite of the awkwardness of the situation, it didn't feel wrong to lie on a bed with her.

"Maybe we should just share," he blurted out, before his brain could grab the words and force them down a chimney somewhere. "There's plenty of room, after all."

"Are you sure?"

He tilted his head to find her looking at him, her smile faded from everywhere but her eyes as she considered him.

"Why not?" he said, shrugging. "It isn't as though I'm going to ravish you in your sleep."

"Sure you trust me not to ravish _you_ in your sleep?" she countered wickedly, catching his hand before he could poke at her ticklish side again. "Okay, okay. I do solemnly swear not to get handsy in bed. Satisfied?"

"Very, thank you."

He grinned back at her, heaving himself up to sit and look around the room. It was one of Duncan's best rooms, he thought, inwardly groaning at the realization that the inn-owner had obviously decided that Carver was bringing a girlfriend or boyfriend with him and therefore needed a special room for the purpose. He was going to have words with that man if he caught him in the next week.

"Didn't you want a shower?" he asked Filipa curiously.

There was no answer. He glanced down, finding his friend dozing off on the soft covers beside him. Well, it had been a long day. They had been up before dawn to get to Kirkwall and catch the boat, and her seasickness would not have helped with her energy levels. Let her nap for a little while - he could take his own shower without embarrassment and wake her up with time to have her own before dinner.

With a fond smile, he gently maneuvered her out of her coat and boots, tucking his arms beneath her back and knees to lift her up and set her head on the pillow. He pulled the throw up and over her shoulder, catching his hand just before he stroked her hair. That was weird, and they had promised each other it _wouldn't_ get weird. She was his best friend. She was doing him a favor.

Thank the Maker she was asleep, though. He had something rather insistent to take care of in the shower.


	3. Chapter 3

Waking from a good night's sleep after a long day was always a good feeling. Especially this morning, Filipa lazily reflected as she slowly surfaced to consciousness. Usually her apartment was frozen, so she was huddled tight beneath layers of blankets, but this morning, she was toasty warm.

Almost too warm, actually. She yawned, tilting her head as the precursor to rolling onto her back, only to realize that she couldn't actually move. That the firm pillow beneath her head was not only warm, but radiating heat, rising and falling in a slow, comforting rhythm. That the wrap of the blanket around her shoulders was not actually a blanket at all, but a firm, well muscled arm, holding her close to an equally firm, well muscled chest.

Sweet Maker, she'd cuddled up to Carver in the night. And he'd let her! He was cuddling her back and ... _Andraste's knickerweasels_ ... her leg was thrown right over his hips, her body pressed so close to his she might as well have been inside his pajamas with him.

She should have been absolutely mortified. She should have rolled away as quickly and gently as possible. A friend wouldn't let their friend wake up in this kind of compromising position, especially when she knew he would blush as red as the fire engines he drove on a daily basis back home. But ... there was a but. There had never been a but before. Not only that; she was deliberately _not_ thinking about what that but might be.

She hazarded a wary tilt of her head to look up at his sleeping face. He was such a handsome man, she reflected. She'd always known it. You couldn't be friends with Carver Hawke without being very aware that women had a tendency to make fools of themselves trying to get his attention. He'd never given them more than the time of day, though. Filipa had initially assumed he wasn't interested in women, but had learned later in their friendship that he was actually terrible at talking to women he fancied. If he could get laid without having to speak at all, it would be so much better for all concerned.

Filipa stopped that thought abruptly, aware that there was a sudden sharp pang in her chest at even the possibility of Carver finding anyone attractive enough to overcome his inability to talk like a human being to a pretty girl. She frowned, absently focusing on the beat of his heart beneath the palm of her hand, marveling at how steady both it and his breathing were, even when she was wrapped around him so completely. She'd be lying if she said she had never found him attractive - Maker knew she had wasted plenty of daydreams on him during the first months they had known one another - but it had never come to anything. That was why she had felt safe in agreeing to help him fool his brother this Satinalia.

She sighed softly, rolling her eyes at herself. _Great, just great. You promised it wasn't going to get weird, and now it's weird. Good going, Pip._

Well, she could at least do the decent thing and untangle herself before he woke up. With careful, gentle movements, she drew her leg back from its rest over his body, delicately loosening the grip of his arm about her shoulders. But as she moved to roll away, he rolled with her, big strong arms wrapping close about her body once again to pull her back close to his chest, fitting the long line of his body to hers with a sleepy mumble.

Filipa swallowed hard, trying not to shiver at the sensation of his breath against the back of her neck, or the warm, liquid warmth that was gathering, unbidden, deep in her belly. _Shit._ There was no getting out of this particular embrace, not without waking him up. She was just going to have to forge through the awkwardness for his sake. It wasn't his fault she had suddenly realized for the second time that he was pretty much everything she could ever wish for in a man.

He nestled closer into her neck, sleeping lips brushing her skin, and she felt the blush begin to paint her body, starting from somewhere around her naval and rushing upward to cast her face in shades of delighted, ashamed rose. Worse, the arm he had wrapped from beneath her neck bent further around her, one large hand closing with unconscious possession about her t-shirt-clad breast. 

"Mmm ..."

Abruptly, she silenced that unconscious moan with a sharp intake of breath, shocked at herself and, if she was honest, more than a little turned on by Carver's sleeping affection. She never would have guessed he was a hugger in his sleep, but then, they had never shared a bed before. This was new territory for both of them.

She was not going to take advantage of him, though. Steeling herself, Filipa gently slid her hand between his palm and her breast, carefully unfolding his arm until it lay flatter against the bed. The other, she just as gently eased from about her waist, slowly inching forward until she could clamber out of the bed without waking him. Breathing a sigh of relief, she looked back at her sleeping companion, and watched as he groped for her for a moment before gathering her pillow into his arms and burying his face into it. It was such an endearing sight that, for a moment, she forgot to breathe normally, eventually forced to inhale or pass out.

"Get yourself together, Pip," she muttered harshly, turning away so that she was not tempted to watch him sleeping any longer. "You're his beard, that's all. Best friends is better than no friends at all."

Catching up her clothes, she headed for the bathroom, determined to sort her head out for the day to come so that Carver need never know just how much she had enjoyed waking up next to him.

By the time they arrived at her sister's house a few hours later, Filipa was fairly sure she had herself under control. Carver didn't seem to be any the wiser about her gloriously unexpected sexual awakening as far as he was concerned, which was just as well. She knew she was acting a little out of character, a little shyer than usual, but he hadn't commented on it. In fact, he seemed far more relaxed today than he had yesterday, an attitude that resulted in them stamping up onto the Rutherfords' porch with his arm slung about her shoulders. It was so easy to pretend with him ... too easy, she realized. Because it wasn't a pretense, for her. _This is so bad. I am a bad person._

Thankfully, Mila had plans for them, roping them both into helping set up the festive tree with Alys directing things from the middle of the living room, except when she wanted to get hands on, in which case Carver was enlisted to hold the little girl up as high as she wanted to go to "fix" the decorations they had been putting up.

"So," Mila said, after pulling her little sister into the kitchen for a moment, "how long have you been seeing each other? You were kind of evasive yesterday, you know."

Filipa rolled her eyes.

"Because I don't see how the length of a relationship should reflect on its strength," she countered, determined to continue being as vague as she possibly could be. "You were technically only seeing Cullen for a couple of months before you moved in with him and Alys."

"We'd been writing to each other for a year," Mila argued. "And my relationship has nothing to do with yours. You are my darling little sister, and in order to be sure you are being treated like the goddess you deserve, I need to know all the details."

"Translation - you are desperate for gossip you can lord over Ksenia and Mama," was Filipa's sardonic reply.

"That, too." Mila was nothing, if not honest, flashing her sister a grin to soften the reality. "You seem pretty comfortable with each other, I have to admit," she went on. "Last night must have been quite the night, though. I don't think I've seen you stare this much at a boy since you were fifteen."

"And I'm going to stop you right there," Filipa said quickly, though she couldn't stop the blush from rising again. That was hardly going to convince Mila she was wrong. "What does or does not happen in bed does not need to be shared with the world."

"I feel like this was a bad time to come into the kitchen," Carver said from the doorway, hovering with a faintly embarrassed look on his face.

"No, your timing is perfect," Filipa assured him, moving away from her sister to join Carver in the doorway.

That turned out to be a very bad move.

"Mistletoe!" Alys exclaimed with absolute delight.

Filipa turned her head to find the little girl bouncing up and down on her toes, waving her hand excitedly at the mantle above them. With a sinking feeling, she followed the line of that happy hand, and sighed. Yes, of course, there _had_ to be a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the kitchen doorframe. She should have known there would be some in this house - it was one of Alys' favorite stories about Mila and Cullen getting together, the day she had all but forced them to kiss under the mistletoe. Mila snorted with laughter, but did nothing to call her daughter off as the little girl skipped forward.

"You have to kiss, it's a law," Alys insisted. "It's not like you don't kiss normally, 'cos you're all smoochy like Mum and Dad."

Filipa lifted her eyes to Carver's, seeing the panic hidden mostly deep in his gaze. _Oh,bugger._ They'd discussed this possibility, they'd agreed they could do it if they absolutely had to. But that had been before she had woken up in his arms and realized that she was quite probably in love with her best friend.

To her surprise, however, he seemed to swallow down that brief moment of panic, a small smile quirking at his lips as he glanced down at Alys.

"One small peck do you?" he asked.

The little redhead frowned, hands on her hips.

"That's not a kiss you give someone you love," she insisted firmly.

"It's the kind of kiss you give your Dad," Filipa pointed out, jumping on this as a last desperate hope.

"But Carver's not your Dad, he's your squeeze," Alys countered in her adorably stubborn way.

"She's got you there," Mila said from the kitchen. "And you're spending too much time with Isabela, Nuglet."

"You have to kiss under the mistletoe," Alys went on, ignoring her mother's commentary from the other side of the couple she wanted to see some real affection from. "It's a rule. Something bad happens if you don't."

"Well, we can't have anything bad happening to your Auntie Pip," Carver agreed.

Filipa stared at him, genuinely shocked that he seemed so calm in the face of this blatant bullying from a child. He caught her stare, his own smile more reassuring than she could have expected, reaching out to tug her a little closer by the belt loops on her jeans.

"Maker, anyone would think you'd never kissed before!"

Mila's laugh made Filipa blush, but it did remind her that she owed Carver the benefit of keeping up appearances. She could handle this. Right?

Forcing herself to relax, she rolled her eyes, rising up onto her toes to meet him as he bent down to her. For just a moment, she almost hesitated, but Carver didn't. His lips touched hers softly, just the barest brush, before claiming her mouth with a firm, gentle kiss that sent butterflies spiraling through her body. She responded without thinking, curling her hands to his wide biceps as his hands found somewhere to rest on her back, forcing herself not to give into the glorious sensation of being kissed by Carver Hawke. _Just a mistletoe kiss, nothing to get worked up over,_ she told herself, deliberately drawing back before she could get lost in that sensation.

Alys cheered, clapping her hands together happily, and threw her arms around both of their waists in a slightly self-congratulatory hug. Filipa snorted with laughter, automatically wrapping one arm about the little girl as Carver's hands dropped from her own back.

"That was ... weird," he murmured.

 _Weird._ The bubble burst instantly. She had promised him this would _not_ get weird, and here they were. It was weird, and she was pretty sure it was her fault. She shouldn't have let herself respond so eagerly to that kiss; she should have let him lead it and end it on his own terms.

"It's always weird when an eleven-year-old forces you to kiss in public," Mila assured Carver cheerfully. "Come and have a cup of coffee, you'll get over it. And no more bullying people, little miss, or I'm going to have to forget where I put the cocoa again."

"Awww ..."

Alys' complaint brought a smile back to Carver's face, at least, both of them stepping back to let the little girl muscle between them to join her mother at the kitchen island. Filipa let out a long breath, rubbing a hand through her hair. She was going to have to try harder to keep this from getting weirder.

"Wasn't a _bad_ kind of weird," Carver added, throwing her an almost teasing grin before stepping away to join her sister for the promised coffee.

And despite herself, Filipa felt a faint flare of hope at that comment, her own smile returning as she shuffled after him, catching Alys by the waist to lift her up onto the counter and tickle the little mischief-maker for her part in that awkward exchange. So weird didn't necessarily mean bad. That was good to know.


	4. Chapter 4

Quite why Garrett had invited him to spend the week before Satinalia with them was a little beyond Carver, especially given that his brother was still working in the studio for another couple of days. It was strange, to say the least, to be carrying on the show of being a couple with Filipa in front of both their families, but he couldn't say he wasn't enjoying it. Nothing much seemed all that different, apart from a few blushes.

And that kiss.

His mind kept turning back to that kiss Alys had forced on them, back to the way Filipa had blushed, the warmth he'd felt as she leaned into him, as she'd kissed him back. It _was_ weird now; he'd made it weird by giving into a child's demand, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. He'd never kissed anyone and been so sure that it was absolutely the right thing to do. And then there had been this morning, waking up to find her cuddled into his side, her arm and leg thrown over his. That hadn't felt awkward at all. It had felt ... wonderful. _So_ wonderful, in fact, that he had immediately felt ashamed of himself and carefully eased away so she wouldn't be embarrassed when she woke up. It was a relief when her sister called her and demanded her attention for the majority of the day.

Of course, that meant Carver was at the mercy of Isabela, who had dropped the news that he and Filipa would be attending the Denerim Satinalia Ball with her and Garrett, and promptly swept him up in her wake to get him properly dressed for the occasion. He hated tuxedos with a vehemence only slightly overtaken by his general hatred of being the overlooked Hawke sibling, and Isabela knew that. She had completely overridden his objections and essentially bulldozed him into being swiftly kitted out for a swanky night out among more strangers than he was prepared to comfortably tolerate. The only thing that kept him from objecting too much was the prospect of seeing Filipa dressed to the nines for once. That was one thing she and Mila had in common, it seemed - neither one of them apparently liked to wear clothing that contained the word "fitted" in the description.

As he approached the entrance to Denerim Zoo - alone, thank the Maker; Isabela had decided she was going to crash in on Garrett at the studio now she had thoroughly embarrassed his little brother - Carver pulled out his phone to check the message Filipa had sent him half an hour ago.

**At zoo, in front of penguin enclosure. Rescue me, or suffer the consequences. ;)**

He had no idea why she needed rescuing from penguins, but it got him away from Isabela and her comments on his physique, so this was a mystery worth investigating. For one thing, how had Mila convinced her sister to come with her to work? And for another thing, what was so bad that Pip needed rescuing from it? He had just endured three hours of Isabela making him try on multiple suits until the fit was "just right", and _he_ hadn't asked to be rescued. So what, exactly, was going on here?

The mystery was only intensified when the woman on the gate correctly identified him as Carver, and waved him through without paying. Apparently Mila had already paid for him to enter the zoo today. It seemed as though he had been expected, even though his plans had been to meet up with Filipa back at the Warden's Arms in an hour's time.

A little imp of mischief he usually kept buried made Carver take his time as he wandered through the zoo, pausing to admire the big cats, the small primates, the large primates. He was particularly taken with the otters for several long minutes, charmed by the playfulness of the cubs that had apparently been born only a few months before. The zoo wasn't exactly crowded, but there were more than a few families and couples wandering the route with him, all gravitating toward the increasing sound of live voices singing carols ahead of them. Outside the penguin enclosure, in fact.

As he rounded the corner, Carver came to a slow halt, his eyes taken not with the antics of the penguins in their pool, but with the small collection of singers stood just off to the side. They were all in winter gear, hats and gloves and scarves keeping the worst of the cold off, but Filipa was instantly noticeable. She was standing in the middle of the middle row, as though Mila had anticipated she would not be particularly enthusiastic about staying in the singing group, but what caught Carver's attention most of all was her _voice_.

Despite the smoothness of the choral harmonies, hers was instantly recognizable as the anchor holding the tune together as the little group sang their way through _"Once In Darkest Minrathous City"_. And Carver was transfixed. Oh, he had heard her sing before - of course he had - though it had generally been when she was drunk and going for volume over tunefulness. This was different. Filipa obviously enjoyed singing, for all her wish to be rescued, and she had the talent to match that enjoyment. Though her tone was not pure, it was smooth and warm, soaring to the highest notes without scratching or breaking, leaping from note to note without the sliding that marred many people's amateur performances. It was beautiful to hear, especially when twinned with the surprisingly delicate harmonies the little choir were winding about the melody itself.

A nudge in his side broke his enthralled attention. He glanced to his right, finding Cullen Rutherford standing beside him.

"You should have heard the argument about getting her to sing," the older man commented with a grin. "Now I know why I never win an argument with Mila - she's spent a lifetime practicing on her sister."

Carver snorted with laughter, his eyes turning back to the group. There was Mila, in fact, standing beside her little sister. He hadn't even noticed her.

"That explains a fair amount to me, too," he admitted in a rueful tone. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

He didn't see Cullen's almost smug grin at his captivated comment, nor the wink and nod that passed between the man and his wife, too caught up in admiring the sound of Pip's voice, the way her eyes shone through the melody on her lips. Cullen patted his shoulder firmly, nodding.

"It runs in the family," he said with a faint chuckle. "They've got one more, and then the performance is over. Pip is probably going to demand dinner and a stiff drink to recover."

Carver chuckled with him. "I don't think that is going to be a problem."

As Cullen walked away, no doubt to return to his duties, Carver wandered along until he was out of the way of passing foot traffic, leaning against the stone wall a little to the left of the carolers' eye-line. With the soft strains of _"Have Yourself A Merry Satinalia"_ playing them in from a concealed sound system, he smiled to see Filipa lead the way, the first lines entirely belonging to her. There was such softness in the way she sang those lines, and open warmth in the way she modulated her tone and volume to accept the joining of the other singers ...

He sighed softly. There was no point in hiding this from himself any longer. He was in love with his best friend. Filipa was kind and sassy and strong and gentle; he'd seen her carry grown men out of burning buildings, and comfort children while their pets were rescued from inaccessible places. She made him laugh, made him feel comfortable. She was beautiful, but that had never turned him into the babbling idiot he was around other beautiful women he fancied. She was ... _Everything I could want. And she's stuck pretending to be my girlfriend for the sake of our families._ How in the Void was he supposed to keep this up now? He wasn't lying to his brother anymore; he was lying to _her_. And somehow, that was worse.

_"... so have yourself a Merry Satinalia now ..."_

Shaking himself out of those dour thoughts, Carver raised his hands to join in the applause as the last strains of music faded away, laughing at the speed with which Filipa unlatched herself from Mila's tightly grasping hand and hurried over to where he stood.

"You had better be here to take me away and get me drunk," she informed him, giggling as he slung an arm about her shoulders. It was such a natural reaction to her closeness, he didn't even think about it. Neither did she, it seemed.

"Why didn't you tell me you like singing so much?" he countered, nodding to Mila as the woman blew him a kiss before disappearing back to her own duties with the animals. "I've only ever heard you singing _"I Will Survive"_ at the top of your lungs at weddings."

Filipa laughed, shaking her head.

"It never really came up?" she suggested, steering them both onto the route through the zoo toward the exit. "I mean, it's not something that does come up naturally in conversation, is it? _I went grocery shopping today, and oh, by the way, I love to sing._ Doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it?"

Carver rolled his eyes at her, barely even noticing the animals as they passed now. How had he never noticed that when he was with her, all his attention was for Filipa Trevelyan? No wonder Stroud and the others teased him constantly. He was smitten, and totally incapable of doing anything about it.

"I suppose Mila told you about this ball we're supposedly going to on Satinalia Eve?" he ventured, not touching his friend's logic there with a barge pole.

She groaned.

"Told me about it, took me shopping for a dress, bullied me in and out of way too much underwear along the way," she told him. "I haven't worn a fancy dress in years."

"I'll let you in on a secret," he said. "I hate wearing a suit. Isabela's got me set up for tuxedo."

"Oh, so we're both going to be as uncomfortable as each other," Filipa said in amusement. "We're going to be such good company on the night."

"We can be grumpy together," Carver agreed, grinning down at her. "So you need a drink, do you?"

"A strong one," she confirmed with a nod.

"Sounds like we're going back to the Warden's Arms, then," he said. "Best mulled wine in the city, and Alistair will add rum or brandy if you're polite about it."

"Oh, Mr. Hawke, you are going to spoil me!" she teased, leaning into him with a familiar laugh as they walked together toward the exit of the zoo.

 _Damn right I am,_ Carver told himself sternly. He wasn't pretending anymore. If he wanted a hope of this "relationship" becoming the real deal, he had to stop worrying about it and just _show_ her what it would be like to be with him. He could do that. It wouldn't be weird unless he forgot himself and kissed her again, and that was not going to happen without her express consent. And if he was very lucky, she wouldn't be shy about giving it, either.

Not a bad Satinalia wish, that one.


	5. Chapter 5

"Auntie Pip?"

"Hmm?"

Filipa turned toward the curious little voice just in time to get a face full of snow, thrown by the most mischievous child she had ever known. Spluttering, she batted the stuff out of her mouth, eyes narrowing at the giggling Alys.

"Oh, you're for it now, Nuglet!"

She bent to scoop up a handful of snow herself, ducking as Alys tossed another snowball her way. It hit her shoulder, scattering soft crystals everywhere, but Filipa was already straightening up with her own snowball, taking aim as Alys squealed and ran for it over the snow. The ball hit the redhead square in the back, making her shout with laughter again as she grabbed for more herself. Babysitting unexpectedly for an afternoon was turning out to be fun.

"Carver?" she called back toward the house.

There was a pause before the kitchen window opened and the tall man leaned out, tilting his head toward her as another snowball smashed against her hip.

"This might take a while," Filipa informed him with a grin and a wink, chuckling as he laughed and ducked back inside out of the cold.

Alys' own grin faltered a little when she saw the size of the snowball her aunt then started to put together.

"Nooo! Uncle Carver, you havta save me!"

Filipa took off running after the little girl, already breathless with laughter at the squealing that erupted from her sister's little girl in the face of being thoroughly beaten in a snowball fight. It seemed as though Alys wasn't used to people fighting back for real. She certainly screamed loudly enough when her aunt brought the big snowball down on her head, cackling along with Filipa at the ridiculous playtime she had initiated.

"No fair!" Alys complained through her grin. "You've got longer legs than me!"

"You started it!" Filipa countered, scooping more into her gloved hands.

She grunted as Alys barrelled into her, knocking her off her feet and into the snow on her back, her half-made missile disintegrating in the fall. As Alys scuttled off, she sat up, patting the snow out of her hair.

"Who's cheating now?" she demanded, only just getting her hands up in time to fend off another attack aimed straight for her face again.

"It's not cheating when it's me, because I am cute!" was the counter.

Filipa laughed as she rose onto her feet, swiping packed snow off her backside.

"That is not a good enough excuse," she argued in amusement. "I'm at least as cute as you!"

"Betcha my Daddy doesn't think so!"

Alys ducked as Filipa tossed more snow her way, snickering happily. None of them had been expecting Cullen and Mila to be called back to the zoo, but then, no one could accurately predict the birthing habits of Antivan tigers, it seemed. It was a pretty huge compliment to be trusted with Alys and their home, and with Carver busy in the kitchen, no one was going to go hungry. Filipa was well aware that she was a hopeless cook - left to her, Alys would have been eating take-out tonight while her parents hovered over a laboring tigress.

Game over was called, however, when Alys managed to get a handful of snow up and underneath Filipa's coat, leaving droplets of freezing water to trickle down her back and soak into her shirt.

"Fine, you win," she conceded, catching her niece about the waist to swing her around to face the house. "And your lips are going blue, so we're going inside, Nuglet."

"That was fun!" the little redhead exclaimed as they tramped over the porch, kicking the snow from their boots before stepping inside to divest themselves of said boots, coats, hats and gloves. "Daddy says Mama liked to play in the snow, but when him and Mum play, they always let me win. I like winning for real."

"I still maintain that you cheat," Filipa assured her, smiling warmly.

It felt strange when Alys referred to her birth mother, Rory, but it was getting easier to deal with. Rory's death had left a hole in Cullen and Alys' lives that Mila was adamant she would not even attempt to fill, instead making her own space alongside the memory of the woman who had made them both so happy to begin with. Still, it was a good thing that both mothers were so precious to Alys. Filipa could not be happier for her sister to have found so warm and loving a home to be a part of.

"Maker's breath, look at the state of you two," Carver said, peering at them from the kitchen door. "Just as well I made cocoa, isn't it?"

Alys' eyes went round with hopeful excitement.

"Real cocoa?" she asked. "With real chocolate and marshmallows?"

Carver grinned at her.

"What do you take me for?" he replied. "I'll have you know that I refuse to drink cocoa made with powder, thank you so very much."

"Go wash your hands," Filipa told her niece before Alys could pounce on Carver and give him one of those hugs that seemed to completely flummox him. "I'm going to steal one of your mum's tops, since mine is mysteriously soaking wet."

Snickering cheerfully, Alys obediently disappeared upstairs in the direction of the bathroom, leaving Filipa usher Carver back into the kitchen so she could reach the laundry room. Mila was hardly going to begrudge her a spare top after an emergency babysitting afternoon. 

"So cocoa before dinner?" she asked, ducking into the laundry room to grab the first clean top that came to hand.

Carver was already back at the stove, stirring the contents of the saucepan. She had to admit, it smelled delicious. He had almost certainly added spice to it as well as using real chocolate.

"It's going to be at least an hour before dinner's ready," he said absently, glancing over as she came back into the kitchen.

"Oh, I guess that's not so bad, then," she agreed, pulling her shirt off over her head.

She missed the sudden catch of breath in his throat, dropping her wet shirt onto the table so she could pull Mila's dry one on instead. It wasn't as though they hadn't changed clothes in front of each other before; it happened all the time in the firehouse, and she was determined not to act as though anything had changed between them. After all, _she_ was the one with the emotions making themselves known. He didn't deserve to have her feelings sloshed all over him.

Pulling her hair out of the collar of the shirt, she turned back toward Carver, only to find him staring at her. And ... _is he blushing?_ He was. Carver, her best friend who never seemed to have noticed she was female before, was _blushing_ at the sight of her changing her top in front of him. Despite her best intentions, Filipa felt herself grin.

"Enjoying the view there?" she asked innocently.

Carver cleared his throat, jerking his gaze away from her to the cocoa on the stove-top. Even his ears were pink. _Blessed Andraste ... he likes me,_ she realized, feeling happy warmth blossoming in her chest. _He actually fancies me! How in the Void did I miss that?_

"You don't need to be embarrassed," she added, moving closer to gently nudge her shoulder to his arm. "I generally enjoy the view from here, too."

All right, so maybe it wasn't the _best_ way to broach the subject of mutual pining, but it was worth it to see his mouth drop open in genuine surprise. She had rendered Carver Hawke speechless. If she wasn't so delighted about the actual cause of it, she would definitely have made a show of marking the date in her diary.

"Are you going to smooch?"

Alys' interruption might have been perfectly timed. Filipa was pretty sure neither she nor Carver were quite ready for this conversation, nor was it something they should talk about in her sister's house when Mila and Cullen could walk in at any moment, not to mention be overheard by a nosy little girl. She smiled at Carver, winking at him, and turned to Alys as he reached for the mugs.

"No, Nuglet, we are not going to _smooch_ ," she informed her niece, wrapping an arm about the girl's shoulders. "You and me are going to choose a movie for everyone to watch while we have cocoa and wait for dinner to be ready. Sound good?"

Alys nodded, tucking her shorter arm around her aunt's waist easily. Filipa was pretty sure the kid was tired from playing outside in the cold, but was at that age where she would never admit to needing a quick nap to recover from having fun. A movie and a warm drink should sort that right out. Carver seemed to have recovered as well; he turned to follow them, three mugs clasped securely in his large hands.

"Let's get to it then, shall we?" he suggested, gesturing with the mugs for the two ladies to go ahead of him.

Predictably enough, Alys was fairly insistent on watching _"A Muppet Satinalia Carol"_ , a movie that Mila also loved and apparently Cullen was very good at appearing to tolerate with good grace. He was subjected to it multiple times every year, after all. Filipa, however, had no objection to the silly movie, settling down onto the couch with Alys curled up under her arm. Carver hesitated only a moment before easing his long frame down onto the couch beside Filipa, comfortably settling his own arm about her shoulders.

She glanced up at him, absolutely certain she was blushing but stubborn enough to smile through it and brazen it out. He smiled back down at her, and turned his attention to the screen, lifting his cup to his lips. Grinning to herself, she turned her own attention to the movie, relaxing into the couch and the nonchalant cuddling on either side of her.

They might have started this as a means to an end, but that end had definitely altered now. Now all she had to do was work out exactly how to break it to Carver that this relationship of theirs was _real_.

That might take some planning.


	6. Chapter 6

"Remind me again why Pip and I had to be dressed up and driven separately to this farce?"

Garrett eyed his brother with a wry quirk of his brow, still adjusting Carver's bow-tie as they waited on the steps of Fort Drakon for their respective dates to arrive. They weren't the only ones in limbo - several other men and women were also waiting impatiently for their evening escorts to arrive.

"You really think 'Bela was going to let the opportunity to see your jaw bounce off the ground pass her by?" he pointed out, gently slapping his younger brother's shoulder. "You did good, Carver. The two of you match up perfectly."

Carver glanced away, unused to being praised by his older brother without some ulterior motive. He rubbed at the back of his neck, rolling his shoulders to make the tuxedo jacket settle more comfortably.

"I can't believe it took so long for me to notice how much I - how important she is to me," he said, not ready to admit to that out loud in front of Garrett. Ideally, that initial confession belonged to Filipa. _If_ he could bring himself to express it.

"Well, you've never been quick on the uptake, baby brother," Garrett pointed out with a grin, laughing as Carver shook his hand off his shoulder.

"What are you up to?" he asked his older brother suspiciously. "You're never this nice without an ulterior motive."

"Me?" Garrett endeavored to look shocked and only half managed it. That grin was not helping matters. "I am as innocent as the driven snow, I assure you."

"Driven being the operative word there," Carver said. He would have liked not to be quite so suspicious of Garrett, but a lifetime had taught him never to trust unsolicited praise or open approval from the eldest of the Hawke children. "I'm fairly sure Isabela has driven every ounce of innocence out of you by now."

"Cruelly mocked by my own flesh and blood!" was the dramatic response. "I'm hurt, Carver. Look, this is my hurt face."

"Shut up."

Despite himself, Carver cracked a smile, chuckling as Garrett slapped his back encouragingly. All right, so their relationship had never been exactly cordial, but things were definitely improving as they got older. Having different lives in different cities was definitely helping. The only thing that would have made this Satinalia better would be having Bethany here with them, but she was busy in Starkhaven, being the prince's betrothed to a court full of weirdos who were stuck in the past. That wasn't how she described it, but that was what Carver had taken away from his twin's explanation of Sebastian's day job.

A familiar throat was cleared behind the two men, urging them to turn around, where they found Isabela and Filipa standing side by side, both wrapped up tight in highly inappropriate coats for their evening attire. Carver had to bite down a snort of laughter at Filipa, who appeared to have twinned a long red dress and exquisitely twisted updo with the more familiar and definitely more worn padding of her quilted parka. It was quite the look.

"Ah, my dulcet darling, there you are," Garrett announced, offering his arm to Isabela.

The gorgeous woman winked at him as she took it, glancing over her shoulder at Carver.

"She says you're a gentleman, pup," she challenged with impish good humor. "I think you should prove it."

"I _do_ know how to do this, thank you, 'Bela," he complained, offering his own arm to Filipa, who took it gratefully.

The reason for the gratitude became immediately obvious, given the sheer amount of leaning on him that was required to get her up the steps and into the Fort. High heels had never been her thing, but arguing with her sister seemed to be a case of picking your battles. It didn't take more than a few minutes to check their coats, and finally Carver got a good look at the woman he loved.

As Isabela had predicted, his jaw dropped like a stone.

Filipa had been talked into an ostensibly modest dress in the rich red of the season - a dress that twinned long sleeves with a deep V in the back and front, and a slit that flashed her thigh if she moved too fast. She looked ... _Utterly stunning. I am the luckiest man here, no doubt about it._

Flicking a stray lock of dark hair out of her eyes, she met his gaze challengingly.

"Well, don't you look gorgeous," she informed him, smiling as he unconsciously straightened up, all but preening at the praise. "And incredibly uncomfortable."

He laughed, offering her his arm once again as his brother headed toward the ballroom with a gold-clad Isabela on his own elbow.

"That makes two of us," Carver answered Filipa. "You look beautiful, but I am _never_ going to let you wear heels again. You feel like you're going to topple over at any second."

"That's why I have you, to keep me upright," she countered, wrapping her arm through his. "I feel ridiculous."

"Trust me, you look far from ridiculous," he promised, smiling down at her. "Ready to go and be grumpy at every stranger who dares look at us sideways?"

"Gosh, what fun!"

Laughing together, they followed in the wake of Garrett and Isabela, joining the line to enter the main hall, from which came the sound of music and many, many people talking and moving around. A formal ball was not their scene at all, but since this was his brother's chosen activity for Satinalia Eve, Carver couldn't complain overmuch. He was genuinely looking forward to the more traditional, less stuffy family Satinalia planned at the Rutherfords' house for tomorrow.

"So, big boy, doesn't she look delicious?" Isabela asked when they finally found the other couple again. "Don't you just want to lick her all over until you find the cherry sweet center?"

"Maker's balls, Isabela, can you lay a filter on it for one evening?" Carver managed in a strangled voice. He didn't need thoughts like that in his head when he was wearing a tuxedo whose pants had been rather more fitted than he was used to.

"Oh, where would the fun be in that?" Isabela chuckled her rich, silken chuckle, absently, adjusting the hang of Garrett's jacket. "You look particularly delectable yourself tonight, pup."

"Oh, I absolutely agree," Filipa piped up, and again, Carver felt himself straighten, proud to be praised by the gorgeous woman on his arm. "But then, you could put him in glittery dragon boxers and fairy wings, and he'd still look amazing."

He looked down at her, surprised and more than a little pleased to hear her say something like that. _Maybe there's hope for me yet,_ he mused. _Sweet Andraste ... what if she likes me, too?_ Was that too much to hope for? It would be amazing if it was true. He could already feel himself edging toward being tongue-tied, and that had never happened around Filipa. He couldn't let it happen now, not when he actually had something of substance to blurt out.

"There you are!"

Another familiar voice caught his attention in time to see Mila Rutherford slide her arms around her sister's waist from behind and grasp Filipa's breasts, jiggling them as she said,

"Doesn't she look _gorgeous?"_

Filipa's face was a picture. He had no idea how she managed to stay so calm as she answered her sister.

"Mila, get off my tits, would you?" she said politely. "There's every possibility I might just step backwards and accidentally impale your foot with one of these spikes you made me wear."

"So combative, Pip."

Mila laughed, but she did release her sister, coming around to give her a proper hug before bestowing one on a genuinely surprised Carver as well. Cullen wandered out of the milling crowd a moment later, apparently not at all ill at ease with the fact that his wife had essentially run away to find their friends without him. He nodded to Carver, expertly fielding Mila as she stepped back, and tucking her against his side.

"Play nicely, sweetheart, we're in public."

"How much has she had to drink already?" Filipa asked, edging carefully into Carver's side until he had to put his arm about her waist or risk being knocked sideways into the mingling crowd around them.

"I'll have you know I'm sober as a judge," Mila objected in amusement, only for Garrett to butt in.

"I don't know, ravishing Mrs. Rutherford," he mused, "I've known a few judges who couldn't get through the day without a stiff drink or twelve."

"Darling, that was usually because you were the one driving them to drink," Isabela reminded him sweetly.

"They didn't need to know _that_ part." Garrett rolled his eyes at his lover, unable to keep himself from laughing at her innocent expression. "You're just as bad."

"And proud of it, I'll have you know," was Isabela's shameless response, drawing a warm laugh from their little group. It was hard not to enjoy yourself when Garrett and Isabela got started.

A waiter passed them by, pausing to offer them each a glass from his tray. To Carver's surprise, both Filipa and Mila politely declined with almost identically awkward smiles.

"Do you have anything other than champagne?" Mila asked the waiter.

He nodded reassuringly, gesturing over the heads of the chattering guests toward the far wall.

"Of course, ma'am. There is an open bar, at which you may obtain wines, spirits, beers, ales, and soft drinks."

"Thank you."

As the waiter moved on, Isabela beat Carver to the obvious question.

"You don't like champagne, ladies?"

"We're allergic to champagne," Mila told her with a smile.

"And wine," Filipa added.

"Oh, and beer, too," Mila finished up, much to her husband's amusement. Cullen, however, buried his laugh at the rather childlike back and forth in a sip from his flute.

"How dreadful," Isabela said mildly. "You can't spend the whole ball sober, you'll have a terrible time."

"I'll go and get you some drinks," Carver volunteered, but was prevented from rushing off by Filipa's hand on his arm.

"Don't worry about it," she told him firmly. "We can get our own drinks. You hold a table somewhere so I can sit down once I have enough liquid courage to walk in a straight line without help."

He chuckled, conceding her point. After all, he had no idea what Mila liked to drink, and she struck him as a woman who would order a complicated cocktail just because it was free and she could. Cullen took Filipa's place beside him as the sisters headed off into the crowd toward the tighter gathering around the open bar on the opposite wall.

"You didn't know about the wine thing?" he asked curiously.

Carver fought down the urge to blush, as though he had been caught in a lie. There was no lie. He had known Filipa over a year and, yes, he'd noticed that she didn't drink wine, but he had never thought to ask her specifically about it.

"It never came up," he told the older man. "I know she prefers spirits, but not _why_."

"It's the sulfites in certain types of alcohol that gets them," Cullen explained, suddenly lurching to one side to claim a briefly unoccupied table as their own. "Don't ask me quite why it's just that, but apparently it runs in the family."

"Don't they make wine, though?" Carver asked, confusion touching his mood even as he glanced over the heads of the crowd to locate the ladies. He found them in the middle of the crush around the bar, apparently doing wonders at getting close enough to order without having to do any bodily harm at all yet.

"Their uncle does," Cullen told him. "He employs people he trusts to do the taste testing and such, as I understand it."

"But if I drink this, won't I give her an allergic reaction later?" was Carver's next query, gesturing with his champagne flute.

Cullen shook his head.

"Keep it to one glass and follow it up with whisky, that's what I do," he suggested. "Mila's never caught hives after a champagne kiss from me, I know that much."

"That brings up all kinds of questions about where you've been kissing her after drinking champagne, you know," Isabela began, breaking into laughter at the resigned look Cullen offered across the table. "You always shut me down before I reach the punchline!"

"I know you too well," was his response.

Carver chuckled, sipping his own champagne as the others settled into conversation. He couldn't quite bring himself to sit down, wanting to keep an eye on Filipa as she maneuvered through the crowd. She seemed to have made a friend at the bar - a tall gentleman whose smile looked just that little bit too friendly for Carver's liking, even from this distance.

And why shouldn't the man be interested? Filipa was beautiful and easy to talk to, and if he didn't pull his finger out, Carver was going to lose his opportunity to convince her that she really wanted this pretense to be the real thing. He could feel the panic rising in his chest, worsening when he saw Filipa take the man's arm to allow him to escort her back toward her party. It made sense that she would, of course - she wasn't exactly steady on those heels, and having a man to lean on who didn't mind was a sensible thing to do, but Carver could feel his teeth grinding at the sight of the man's too friendly gaze taking in the view that was tantalizingly visible from his loftier height.

A firm hand gripped his elbow. His head snapped around, ready to bark at the gripper, only to find Garrett right beside him with a warning expression on his face.

"Don't let it bother you," his brother advised. " _Her_ opinion is the only one that matters, and trust me - he's nowhere near as interesting to her as you are."

Biting down his instinctively harsh reply, Carver frowned, glancing to the advancing Filipa, and her escort. He'd completely forgotten that Mila was trailing them closely, too.

"I know, I just ..."

He trailed off, disappointed in himself for his jealous reaction. Garrett released his elbow and gently patted his back.

"You'll get better at it," he predicted. "Especially once you tell her how you feel."

Carver jerked, startled by the comment, turning a searching look onto his brother.

"How did you ...?"

"I'm not a _complete_ idiot, Carver," his brother assured him with a grin. "Like I said, you're a good match. Get on with it."

Just as Carver opened his mouth to ask how, exactly, he was supposed to do that, Garrett plastered on his best smile, reaching out a hand toward the arriving newcomer.

"Teagan, good to see you," he declared, drawing Carver's rival into conversation at their table and away from Filipa with smooth expertise.

The younger Hawke blinked, impressed with his brother's surprisingly apt social skills, automatically stepping back to let Mila slip past him and into the chair beside Cullen.

"You look like you just swallowed a whole lot of humble pie," Filipa commented, lifting his arm up and sidling into the space she had created for herself. "What did I miss?"

Absently tucking his fingers into the curve of her waist, Carver blinked down at her for a moment longer, making a brave attempt to drag his thoughts back from where they had flown to. One, that his apparent rival was _Teagan Guerrin_ , brother of the Arl of Redcliffe; two, that Filipa seemed to have completely forgotten the man now she was back beside him.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" he asked abruptly. "In private?"

It was her turn to blink up at him, curiosity warring with concern in her pretty eyes as she considered him.

"Uh ... sure," she agreed. "If you can find somewhere private around here."

"Try the balcony," Cullen suggested, though he looked for all the world as though he was talking to his own drink. One hand gestured in the right direction. "Should be a few private places out there."

Carver flashed the man a grateful smile, squeezing Filipa's waist gently.

"Thanks. Come on, Pip."

"After you."

She smiled, leaving her glass with her sister to join Carver in attempting some kind of smooth motion through the mingling guests toward the balcony. Thankfully, the doors were already open; once they were in the right sort of area, the Brownian motion of the crowd ushered them straight out and onto the balcony that overlooked the city, heated with discreet lamps to hold the snowy chill at bay. A few others had left the main hall to brave the chill, but Cullen had been right - they were few and far between, offering space for a relatively private conversation.

Carver swallowed as he drew Filipa over to the furthest corner, where an overhanging honeysuckle heavy with fresh snow cast them into deeper shadow. She was still smiling, her expression more curious now than concerned, more amused than worried. It was a good look on her, he realized, releasing her waist to catch her hands in his and pull her about to face him. He supposed he had never really paid attention to how expressive her face really was; she couldn't hide anything.

"So ...?" she prompted, green eyes bright with encouragement.

"So, yes. Talk." He drew in a deep breath, looking down at their joined hands for a moment. "Pip, I, um ... I think we should stop. The pretending, that is. I mean, it's pretty obvious that Garrett's rumbled us, you know?"

He was surprised to see her expression suddenly droop, a flash of hurt in her gaze before she covered it with a smile that he knew was nothing more than a mask.

"So I suppose there's no point in keeping it up then," she said.

Carver frowned, tilting his head to keep her eyes on his as she made a move to look away. He had a feeling he had missed something here, but if he didn't make headway, he was never going to get this off his chest. He'd make it up to her another time. Right now, he had something to say, and if he didn't say it now, he might actually explode with jealousy every time she so much as looked at any man who showed an interest in her.

"No, there isn't," he agreed, tightening his fingers about hers at the merest suggestion that she might be about to pull away. "Because I don't like lying to you, Pip. I know this might destroy our friendship, but I'm hoping it won't."

He hesitated, watching her forced smile fade into watchful interest once more.

"I haven't really been pretending," he admitted, feeling awkward just saying it out loud. "I didn't realize until a couple of days ago. I, um, I like you, Pip. Shit, no, that's not what I mean ... I don't _like_ you, I-I -"

He stuttered into silence, mumbling for a moment behind the fingertips she pressed against his mouth to shut him up. And there was her smile - her _real_ smile, the soft quirk of her lips that lit up her eyes and made her shine. The smile he had always taken for granted, all these months, suddenly in front of him, holding up the flame of hope that he hadn't just made a terrible mistake.

"I love you, too," was all she said, gentle words in a moment of stillness that nonetheless deafened him with their impact.

He actually felt his knees threaten to buckle, dropping the one hand she had left in his grasp to clasp her about the waist in an attempt not to sink to his knees in front of her. She wobbled, laughing as her arms snapped up about his neck and shoulders, both of them tottering on the edge of a very ungainly collapse for a moment before he pulled himself together.

"But I never ... I didn't say it," he muttered, almost annoyed that she'd got there first.

She raised a brow, and he felt a shiver ripple deliciously down his spine as her fingertips teased their way into the short hair at his nape.

"Does it really matter who said it first, when we both feel it?" she asked softly.

He couldn't have stopped his smile from becoming a grin even if he had wanted to, for the first time utterly unashamed of how goofy he might look in this moment. She was absolutely right.

"No," he said, laughing with quiet good grace as he hoisted her up off her feet, nose to nose with him in the shadow of the honeysuckle. "I love you, Pip."

"Good," she responded, brushing the tip of her nose to his affectionately. "Because ravishing is definitely on the cards tonight, Carver Hawke."

"I feel like I should salute," he teased, all the tension and worry sweeping from his body in the face of a confession he had actually been afraid would not be reciprocated in the slightest.

"If you drop me, I will leave a mark somewhere embarrassingly obvious," she informed him sweetly. "I'd much rather you kissed me. Properly, this time."

"Oh, last time wasn't proper enough for you?"

He didn't give her an opportunity to argue, pressing smiling lips to hers in a kiss that promised to wipe the lie of their first kiss clean from his memory and lay the foundation for every other kiss to come. And this time, he felt no shame in coaxing her lips to part, in tasting her breath on his tongue as her fingers combed into his hair, her feet dangling several inches off the floor. How much trust did she have in him to let him hold her up and kiss her, he wondered. Then the thought fled as she delicately nibbled his lower lip; Isabela was going to be so proud of herself for having his tuxedo jacket cut a little longer than was usual.

What was it they said about Satinalia wishes? Carver couldn't quite recall, and, if he was honest, he didn't care. His Satinalia wish had just come true, and there wasn't a damned thing anyone could do to make his holiday any better now. She loved him.

"Mmm ..."

His lips vibrated with her voice as she drew back just far enough to meet his gaze, smiling impishly as her fingers smoothed his hair.

"Took us long enough, didn't it?"

He laughed, lowering her down onto her feet, delighted to feel her press herself into his arms in a warm embrace.

"You know my brother is going to be insufferably smug about this," he murmured, careful not to put her hair into too much disarray or risk the wrath of Isabela.

"Let him be," Filipa said, lifting her head to match his smile to her own. "I have everything I want right here."

Carver didn't think his smile could get any broader, yet in the face of that confident statement, there he was, stretching his smile beyond all limits. He gathered her closer into his arms, stretching his neck down to kiss the tip of her nose fondly.

"Let's go and watch him drown in his own smugness, then," he suggested. "And then we can skip out on this ridiculous night out."

"Oh, not a chance," she insisted, straightening up and wrapping her arm through his. "You and I are going to dance at least once. I did not get all dressed up just to leave at the first opportunity."

She cast him a teasing flicker of a grin as they walked back toward the main hall.

"The ravishing comes later."


	7. Chapter 7

Snow fell overnight, cloaking the world in fresh, crisp white for the morning to come. Across Denerim, children rose before dawn and began to torment the adults in the house with a pressing urge to throw wrapping paper all over the living room. The streets were quiet and calm.

And, for the first time in a long time, Filipa Trevelyan woke slowly, deliciously aching and wrapped in the arms of a man she adored.

There was no embarrassment this time, no sense of something she needed to feel guilty about. Indeed, she cuddled closer to the warm, shifting chest beneath her cheek, smiling lazily as the arm about her shoulders tightened in answer, fingers stroking against her skin with absent affection. She pressed her nose to the smooth skin, breathing in the musky scent that was now hers to enjoy openly, absolutely delighted to discover how well it blended with her own natural scent.

"I know you're awake," a gravelly voice murmured above her head.

"No, I'm not," she mumbled back, refusing to leave her happy dream just yet. There was always a chance it was just a dream, after all. That would be crushing, especially on Satinalia.

She felt Carver's chest shake beneath her as he huffed out a silent laugh, followed by the gentle brush of his blunt fingers teasing her hair back off her face to reveal her rather smug grin.

"Who am I talking to, then?" he asked, his own smile audible in his voice.

"The ghost of Satinalia yet to come," she answered.

He was so warm, so _there_. Her only recently realized dream had come true in the best possible way. All right, so she'd had to dress up in a ridiculous dress and heels and let Isabela do scandalous things to her breasts to make them stay put without a bra, but it had all been worth it. Because Carver Hawke _loved_ her. Better yet, nothing had truly changed between them. Their friendship was the perfect foundation for what they could now explore together in the dying months of the year. Without thinking, she pressed a kiss to his skin, giggling as he let out a quiet growl in response.

"That didn't seem particularly spiritual," he accused, shifting just enough to let the fingers of his free hand drift down her side, firm enough not to tickle but to arouse.

"I don't know," she mused, eyes still closed against the morning that was upon them. "Last night, we _definitely_ visited the Golden City."

His laugh was an amazing sound to hear, low and mirthful, rumbling through his chest as he hugged her close, pressing his lips to her hair in the kind of kiss most people forgot to daydream about when they wished for romance in their lives. It was the little things that stood out, and Filipa had been blind to them for over a year. Maybe it was time to open her eyes.

She blinked, drawing in a deep, sleepy breath as she tilted her head back to share her smile with Carver. He was still adorably sleep-rumpled, his hair sticking up all over the place, eyes half-lidded with owlish pleasure.

"Pretty sure we didn't bring back anything evil, though," he murmured, tipping her chin a little higher with his thumb to brush his lips to hers. "Could have been a fluke."

"Mmmm ..."

Her arm rose from its wrap about his chest to tease her fingers into his hair as he rolled her onto her back, sleepy kisses deepening with slow tenderness, never demanding, always asking, always answered with unspoken certainty. He drew back, leaning over her as she smoothed his hair, both of them sharing their satisfied smiles with one another.

"We should probably test the theory a few hundred times," she suggested, unconsciously arching into his touch as his hand wandered down over her side and hip once again. "Just to be sure."

"Whatever would the Grand Cleric say if she knew we were tempting the wrath of the Maker?" he teased, bumping his nose to hers.

"Who cares?" Filipa grinned back at him. "Besides, the Maker got married. I doubt Elthina's ever even _seen_ a real dick, much less ridden one."

He snorted, rolling his eyes at her. It was an expression they had passed off on one another too many times to count by now, and seeing him do it in such an intimate setting was exhilarating comfort.

"I'd rather not think of myself as nothing more than an exotic mount, sweetheart," he objected laughingly.

"If you were, I'm pretty sure you would be a nuggalope," she said, and abruptly squealed as he pressed his fingers into her ticklish side, contorting underneath him in helpless fits of giggles. "What? It's a compliment!"

He wouldn't let up, tickling her mercilessly until she was a boneless, breathless sprawl, pinned underneath him and still not quite able to get her giggles under control. She did her best to pout, but from the look on his face, it wasn't working.

"What was that again, sweetheart?" he asked, the endearment tripping off his smiling lips as easily as honey dripping from a comb.

"A ... a griffon?" was her peace offering.

It seemed to do the trick. Carver relaxed, leaning down onto his forearms, braced beneath her shoulders, nose to nose once again.

"That's better," he agreed. "Noble steed. Not exotic monstrosity, thank you so very much."

"You _are_ huge, you kn - no! I'm sorry, I'll stop!"

She grabbed for his hand as he went for her side again, both of them this time dissolving into laughter at their combined antics. Hugging Carver's hand to herself, Filipa rolled to set her back against his chest, wrapping his arm around her again.

"We don't have to get up for at least another hour," she pointed out as he settled in at her back, tucking her close against the long line of his body with a kiss to her nape. "Can we cuddle a while longer?"

She felt his lips curve against her shoulder, his arms gently tightening to make her request a reality.

"Anything you want, Pip," he promised, the low whisper sending a sweet, melting flow of warm relaxation through her body. "We've got all the time in the world."

She smiled, nestling back against him as her eyes closed once more, reveling in the sensation of being wrapped up safe and secure in strong arms that would never hurt her. Who would have thought that agreeing to a little lie just to escape Ostwick for the season would result in this glorious Satinalia morning? She certainly couldn't have predicted it, those latent feelings for her best friend buried so deep that it took pretending to be his girlfriend to bring them out into the light. And she didn't have to bury them ever again.

One little lie. One badly executed falsehood. All the wonder of the perfect Satinalia morning.

Tidings of comfort and ploy, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, my darlings! I wrote a whole story in under a week, after writing bugger all for a year! Yay! As always, if you fancy looking me up on tumblr, it's @shannaraisles, and who knows? I might even keep writing stuff!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and Happy New Year for 2020!


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